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A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

Titel: A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)
Autoren: Ellery Adams
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THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
    Published by the Penguin Group
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    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

    A DEADLY CLICHÉ

    A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

    PRINTING HISTORY
    Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / March 2011
    Copyright © 2011 by Ellery Adams.

    All rights reserved.
    No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
    For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

    eISBN : 978-1-101-47729-8

    BERKLEY ® PRIME CRIME
    Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
    BERKLEY ® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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To the Cozy Chicks, my sisters in crime:

    Deb Baker
Lorraine Bartlett
Kate Collins
Maggie Sefton
Leann Sweeney
Heather Webber

(Love) is easily the most empty cliché, the most useless word, and at the same time the most powerful human emotion—because hatred is involved in it, too.
    —TONI MORRISON

Chapter 1

    There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.
    —WILLA CATHER

    “S torm’s comin’,” the fisherman said, stroking the pewter whiskers of his beard. He glanced at the small television mounted above the espresso machine, squinting at the green radar image of circulating clouds.
    Olivia Limoges followed his gaze. She looked at the irregular shape of the low-pressure system forming in the Caribbean, listening closely as the meteorologist showed the storm’s projected path should it gather strength and become more than a tropical disturbance. The slick-haired weatherman assured his viewing audience that although the storm was likely to organize and grow in force, it would remain out at sea, allowing for a perfect Labor Day weekend for those heading to the beach.
    “Jackass,” the fisherman’s voice rumbled like distant thunder. He rubbed a calloused, leathery hand over his lined face as though he could wipe away the other man’s erroneous words. “Don’t matter how much fancy equipment these boys get. They don’t understand a damned thing’bout balance. We’re due for a big one and we’re witnessin’ her beginnin’ right here and now on that TV screen. I feel it in my bones. It’s a comin’.”
    Olivia nodded in agreement, for she and the man beside her shared an understanding. The ocean lived inside them. Like the merfolk of legend, their blood seemed to be mixed with salt water and their hearts filled with cresting waves. There was a rhythm, like the pull of a tide, within their souls. Since birth, they’d been schooled to respect the currents and the shallows and the cold depths where no light penetrated. As adults, they were still awed by each powerful swell and surge.
    In return for their reverence, the sea offered them gifts. The fisherman, whose name was
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